


The five times Hamilton wanted Jefferson to die...

by Aneesan



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Overdosing, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneesan/pseuds/Aneesan
Summary: A year, a month, a week, a day, an hour, a moment. How easy was it to step away, to turn from the throbbing heat that surrounded them, replace the growing comfort with icy solitude. Hamilton would douse his festering wounds of passion in three, five, ten drinks, all to return to the moment before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really my style or the genre I usually go for, but here it is.

They were beasts in the classroom, constantly at each other’s throats. Biting words, rapid fire insults. Hamilton didn’t hide the extent to which he loathed Jefferson, and vice versa. That was the beginning of the year.

It was summer now; Hamilton’s friends were departing to their respective places of rest. Constantly consumed with his words, he waved aside any offers of companionship, sinking deeply into the seas of the written word. The sudden halt to the fiery debates left a cold spot on his heart. Hamilton was not one to wait for opportunity, he created his own. He wrote a message to Jefferson, a declaration of neutrality in order to fill his empty days. The response was one of sarcastic humor, “Are you missing me yet?” “Feeling lonely?” with gritted teeth he responded, “I knew a prick like you couldn’t be serious for once”. The start of the month.

Hamilton was desperate. There was more than a week left before he could settle into his college routine. He picked up his phone, scrolling through the messages. He had ignored Jefferson since their conversation at the beginning of the month, but he couldn’t take it any longer. The absence of heated discussion left him lethargic, exhaustion creeping back into his lackluster life. He tried again, started simple “hey”. Hey was the best he decided, hello was too formal and not vexing enough, hi was casual, as if they were old friends who hadn’t spoken in a while… they definitely weren’t friends. The response was almost instantaneous, “fuck off Hamilton”. He inhaled sharply, but took another shot at it, “can you advise me on analyzing state debt?” Simple, polite, a thinly veiled challenge. “I don’t have time for this” came the short reply. Hamilton frowned, since when did Jefferson back out of a potential fight? “Are you ok?” He chewed his lip as he waited for a response. None came. The week it happened.

He wasn’t worried about Jefferson that was for damn sure. He was bored, boredom took him down the stairs of his apartment, it led him 13 blocks in a thunderstorm, it carried him through the expensive interior of the luxurious building where Jefferson resided. He stopped outside his door, a moment of hesitance was replaced with determination, he pounded on the door with all his strength. The distant sound of approaching footsteps, the rustling of a lock being undone, the creaking of an ancient door. Dark eyes appeared from within followed by a mess of curls and lips, God his lips. Lips that weren’t curled in disdain, or twisted into an ugly smirk, beautiful lips that moved as he spoke and he was speaking but Alexander wasn’t hearing because those eyes had trapped him, those curls were begging to be wound through his fingers, those lips alive with rich sound. A sharp snap in front of his face brought him back to reality, “Hamilton, are you even listening to me?” Alexander blinked once, twice. “Why are you even here?” he sounded tired, Alexander heard it in his voice, the baritone weakened with anxiety. “I was worr- wondering if you had gotten my email” he finished lamely. Jefferson sighed deeply, “Just go Hamilton, I can’t deal with you right now.” Alexander stiffened at the tone of his voice, controlling himself as best as he could he turned on his heel and left. Jefferson doesn’t get to see his moment of weakness, furious tears pricking his eyes. It was raining harder outside. The day he listened.

It was late at night when Jefferson texted him, “I looked through your debt plan, it’s a piece of shit” and then as an after thought, “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier”. Alexander glanced at them briefly, not bothering to respond, it was a ploy to reveal weakness. The next message was short and concise, no room for hidden meaning or suggestion, “Goodbye, Alexander”. And his body went cold, because Jefferson had never called him Alexander before, he had never apologized, and what if this wasn’t a trick? What if he was too dumb to see the bigger picture, and he was numb as he ran down the stairs, and into the hurricane outside, 13 blocks away, his heart in his throat, because Thomas Jefferson did not call him Alexander. He raced through the ostentatious lobby, taking the stairs two at a time, the burning in his lungs nothing compared to ice on his spine. The hour it began.

The door was unlocked and he didn’t know why, why was Thomas sitting on the floor in the dark, an empty container of meds at his side, why were his eyes open, it had to be uncomfortable, why was he just sitting there, with his phone in his hands open to the messages between him and Alexander. And it was so cold in the room, Alexander touched his hand and the warmth was fading and the room was so cold. The moment it ended.


End file.
